Of Involuntary Movements and Situational Oddities
by swishandflickwit
Summary: He didn't really know why he was moving towards her. It was sort of involuntary. Like his palpitating heart beat and sweaty palms. "What do you want?" She asked. "I want to take you out." And with that, she sort of, kind of, had to. . . Well. . . agree.


******A/N: A poor attempt of getting back into the writing game. Read at your own risk.**

* * *

He didn't really know why he was moving towards her. It was sort of involuntary. Like his palpitating heart beat and sweaty palms.

It was bloody crowded in the pub that night. But that didn't stop him. In fact, he didn't or rather, _couldn't_, really stop until he was right behind her and – involuntarily – tapping her shoulder. She whirled around, her untamable mane hitting him on the nose. He was so close that she bumped into his chest. His hands shot out to steady her (involuntarily) as hers found their way to his arms.

For a moment, nobody moved and he couldn't really look her in the face. All he was truly aware of was the warmth that was radiating to him from where her skin made contact with his arm.

It involuntarily made him tingle.

Meanwhile, it wasn't until she cleared her throat and untangled herself from his hold that she stepped back a bit. He looked at her face. A look of confusion was etched upon her features.

Makes two of us, he gravely thought.

Another moment was dedicated to them just staring at anything (but each other) and standing in the middle of the pub (pretty awkwardly) until she called on (forcibly summoned) her bravery to break the unnerving silence that settled uncomfortably between them.

"Why are you here?"

He gulped.

"I'm here for a drink. I would think you'd know that, _Granger_."

She rolled her eyes.

"I meant, here, in front of me. I would think you'd know that, _Malfoy_."

He rocked on the balls of his feet, avoiding her gaze and taking great interest in his shoes. Had they always been this pointy? This _shiny_?

She crossed her arms.

"What do you want?"

It was an excellent question. The finest really.

He wondered how he'd answer when his lips started coordinating with his larynx, all involuntarily (of course).

"I don't know."

But in a way, he sort of did. In the dark recesses of his mind he did.

And that was everything! Everything was dark, from the corners of the manor to the corners of his mind, he was engulfed in it. Even the very spot he stood upon was bloody dark! He felt he was trapped.

He ran a hand through his hair then down his face and at that moment, to her, he looked about a hundred years old. Merlin, he felt he was a hundred years old.

"Look Granger, I don't know. But I entered the room and my eyes sort of. . . kind of. . . involuntarily. . . sought _you_."

He took a step closer and they were just centimeters away from each other. His hand – involuntarily – placed itself in front of her cheek with his fingers folded and his knuckles out. Not touching her but not retreating either.

She simply stood with baited breath, wondering at the complexity that had fallen upon her. She wondered what he really wanted and at that moment felt that whatever he asked she'd agree to.

"There's something about you," He whispered, "it's almost like the twinkle in your eyes, or the brightness of your smile. . . They," he took a breath.

"They?"

A thought occurred to him, oddly, at that moment. For like a moth to a flame, he wondered if he found a light. An _escape_.

"Draw me to you."

Then he thought: Did I just say that? Like, really say that?

Cause everything at that moment felt like a dream, especially when she started to blush. Especially when he uttered _those words_.

"I want to take you out."

With his shocking confession (after two years of zero communication and/or interaction) and now his request – more like demand – she had to widen her eyes at the overwhelming utterances pouring rapidly out of his mouth.

He saw his own wide eyes reflected against hers. "Forget it," He mumbled and of his own accord (finally, one thing he was willing to do), turned to walk away. He walked slowly, his heart a stuttering lump in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

Despite his odd shortcomings at expressing his feelings and the plain _oddity_ of the situation itself, she was quite flattered.

So when she called out his name and he turned around, she marveled at complexities of the Draco Malfoy mind.

Besides, she was Hermione Granger, the Never-Backed-Down-From-A-Challenge One ("Ha!" She would say with a smug little grin, if Harry was here, "I've got my own nickname too!") (But that was besides the _point_). And with that, she sort of, kind of, had to. . . Well. . .

_Agree_.

* * *

"Wait,"

He stopped in his tracks and turned around. His eyes sought out hers.

"Okay," She breathed.

* * *

**A/N: Can't really say I didn't warn you. Now tell me if it was a fair warning. (Or better yet, _don't_)**

**(Oh yeah. Reverse psychology)**


End file.
